


still got it

by kallistob



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Accents, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Banter, Feel-good, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Graves is alive and well, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: “I guess this means we're dating now.”“We already were, ye daft wanker. Ye just were too slow to notice.”





	still got it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Funkspiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/gifts).



> short and fluffy. really. i hope it puts a smile on your face. enjoy :)

“...And that's how Dougal became part of the family,” Newt concludes with a wide smile. “Now it’s your turn to tell me a story, Mr. Graves.” The man punctuates his sentence with a cheeky wink, and the corner of Graves’ lips curves up. 

“I have no stories of my own.” 

“Bullshit,” Newt replies. His cheeks are flushed rose pink, no doubt due to the two glasses of white wine he’s already consumed. “Tina told me there’s a rumor going around that touching the President’s headdress will result in ten years of good luck. She also told me she believes you’re the perpetrator behind that rumor. Is it true?” 

Graves does smile, this time, a wide grin that makes his eyes sparkle and his cheeks glow, taking ten years off of his age. It also has the unfortunate side-effect of making Newt’s heart gallop in his chest. “I will not dignify that with a response.” 

“Oh, bugger off,” Newt says, feeling pleasantly light-headed. “What time is it? Shouldn't you get back to work?” 

“Yes I should.” Graves raises his hand, catching the waitress’ eyes. “Check, please,” he tells her, and she comes over with a nod, taking their plates away with practiced efficiency. Graves rolls himself a cigarette while she’s gone, something Newt eyes with distaste but doesn’t comment on. They all have their habits. 

“There you go, sir,” the waitress says, placing the tab on the table. “I hope you enjoyed your meal?” 

“We did, thank ye,” Graves says. “I believe we’ll be back shortly.” 

“I’m very pleased to hear that, sir.” The girl leans towards him, maintaining eye contact and the same dazzling, charming smile. Graves has enough experience under his belt to realize with a start that she is flirting with him - subtly, but the signs are there. He feels oddly flattered. “Have a good day.” 

“Ye too, darling,” he adds the pet name for good measure, and smirks when the waitress’ face turns a delicious shade of red. She coughs, gives him one last longing look before turning on her heels, and Graves turns back to his companion with a lazy satisfaction. “Looks like I still got it.” 

Newt doesn’t reply. His grip is knuckle white on his glass, and Graves worries he might shatter it and hurt himself. “Are ye okay?” 

“I’m perfectly alright,” Newt whispers, sounding vaguely strangled. “Was she your type?” 

Graves blinks. “Whot?” 

“The waitress.” 

“Hm? Oh, no, not at all! But it feels good to know I can still catch some eyes even after…” He gestures vaguely to his outward appearance, and Newt doesn’t need a drawing to know what he means. 

Graves’ suit is bespoke, as expensive looking as one can get; he fills it out nicely now, after a few adjustments and months of recovery, but it does nothing to hide his missing eye. The empty socket would be visible if not for his eyepatch, giving the man a vaguely rogue air. He cannot either conceal the cane he keeps at his side, or the streaks of white in his longer hair. Graves is forty-five, and looks well over fifty. 

Yet age seems to serve him: he’s not lost that liquid dangerous tilt to his body when he moves, a positively predatory gate that makes people scatter when he walks into a room. Confidence is still etched in the set of his shoulders, in the sharpness of his smile, and the overall effect - if Newt’s being quite honest - is extremely attractive. 

In short, he understands why the waitress would hit on his friend, and he understands plainly why Graves would respond. Which doesn’t mean he has to like it - quite the contrary. 

“So if I batted my eyelashes at you like she did…” Newt starts, and Graves looks at him curiously.  _ Bugger. _ “...Would you flirt with me too?” 

“Possibly,” Graves says. “But ye never tried, have ye?” 

His accent makes Newt feel weak. “No,” he says tightly. “I have not.” Graves fishes his wallet out of his inner vest pocket, taking out a couple bills and placing them on top of the check. As if on cue, the waitress comes back to accept the payment, and Graves greets her with a ridiculous pick-up line that makes Newt want to groan in embarrassment. The worst thing is that it is  _ working.  _

“Ye touched my hand!” Graves gasps when the lady retrieves the bills and ‘accidentally’ (Newt grits his teeth) brushes her fingers over Graves’ knuckles, whose hand rests near the edge of the table. 

“I - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she says, flustered. 

“Not at all, not at all.” Graves takes her hand in his - and then out of nowhere gives her a look of such positively heated _ filth _ even Newt can feel his knees go weak. He crosses his legs, hoping to hide any unfortunate reaction to Graves’ voice, now lowered and deeply saturated in sex. The poor lady looks about ready to faint right there. Graves, the fucker, continues to caress her hand like he’s touching her rather intimately. “On the contrary - now I can tell all my friends I’ve had the pleasure to touch an angel.” 

“Graves, for fuck’s sake,” Newt all but hisses. Graves chuckles and releases her, taking his cane in hand and getting up swiftly. 

“Sorry love, work is calling. Have a good day.” 

“Thank you?” she says faintly, and Newt positively drags Percival out of the restaurant before the man does something insane like actually have sex with her on one of the tables. 

“What the hell was that?!” He asks once they’re outside, buttoning up his coat with shaking hands. He tucks them inside his pockets and scowls - and Graves still looks fucking amused _.  _

“That was me flirting, Newt. Ye should take some lessons, it might help you out with Tina.” 

“I don’t…” Hang on. Newt stills. He doesn’t need lessons, of course he doesn’t, him and Tina are over, but suddenly he finds himself imagining what exactly these lessons could entail and… “Actually, yes. You’re right. I think I need a couple lessons to hone my seduction skills. Will you help me?” 

Graves barks out a laugh. “Yer place or mine?” 

Newt frowns. “Isn’t it a bit too early for that line?” 

“Is it? Ye think I haven’t noticed ye leering at me all these past weeks?” 

“What?” Newt squawks, stopping short. 

“I’ll not say I understand,” Graves muses, “but the look on yer face when I flirted with her there was priceless. Ye turned into six feet of a hundred percent possessive jealousy, Newt. I’d be more than happy to teach ye more about seduction if ye use yer newfound knowledge on me,” and the way he emphasizes the s-word is dripping with promises. 

Newt feels a bit as if he’s stumbled into another reality, one in which Percival Graves reciprocates his feelings and wants him too. 

“This can't be happening,” he says in disbelief, and Graves raises an eyebrow. If Newt wasn't careful, he would have missed the flicker of insecurity in his eyes, quickly concealed by another shit-eating grin. 

“If that's your decision I will not force you. Shall we get back to work?” 

Newt stares. “I don’t understand you.”

“I was under the impression that I spoke English. Am I mistaken?” 

“Jesus Christ, Graves! Mind being serious for a minute?” 

“I am serious, we’re going to be late.” 

“Stop!” Newt bars the man’s path, standing in front of him with his arms outstretched and uncaring if he looks like a petulant kid. “Let me get this  _ perfectly _ clear. Do you want me?” 

“Yes,” Graves says softly, perfectly honestly. Oh god, they're still standing in the middle of the fucking street. Newt casts a quick notice-me not charm wandlessly. 

“Is it just lust?” Newt then asks desperately. “Because…” 

Graves shakes his head. “Ye saved me, Newt. My friend. I believe we stand on solid ground for this relationship to evolve into something more - that is, if ye’re willing to be with a crippled old man.” 

“You still got it,” Newt reminds him, before taking a deep breath. “Right. Okay. Yeah, this is happening. The  _ fuck.” _

“What do ye want, Newt?” Graves asks gently. 

“You,” Newt blurts out. “You, anyway that I can have you, Graves. You’re -” A thousand adjectives come to his mind, but none of them feel like enough to describe what he feels. Belatedly, he realizes they're only a few feet away from the restaurant; he can still feel the last pangs of jealousy, and it spurs him on. In three quick steps he is up to Graves’ level, dragging the older man into a kiss, claiming him publicly. It doesn't matter if none of the muggles can actually see them go at it: the waitress was a witch, and if she so much as look outside she'll understand Graves is way out of her league. 

When he steps back, Graves looks vaguely dazed. Unable to resist, Newt steals another quick kiss, then another, until Graves’ cane clatters to the ground and he starts clutching Newt’s coat instead. Despite the snow falling around them, Newt feels warm all over. 

Graves stops kissing him to tuck his head against Newt’s chest, and Newt wraps his arms around the man, rubbing his back, feeling utterly content. “Well.” 

“Well what?” Graves asks, muffled. 

“I guess this means we're dating now.” 

Graves laughs, a deep, merry sound that has Newt smiling like a loon in turn. “We already were, ye daft wanker. Ye just were too slow to notice.” 

Newt thinks of all the times they’ve gone out to either lunch or dinner together, all the times they touched affectionately at the office when Graves let no one else approach him. He thinks of his birthday, when Graves went out of his way to offer him a baby phoenix. He thinks of the day Graves held him as he broke down after the mother Graphorn died of illness. He thinks of all these sacred, shared moments between them, interspaced over the last year ever since Graves blinked his eyes open in the hospital after his rescue. He thinks of Percival Graves, and then he doesn’t have to think, because his man is kissing him again. 

“Yes,” he says between two kisses. “I believe we were.” 

“Yer an idiot.” 

“You love me,” Newt says hesitantly. 

“Aye, I do,” Graves says unrestrained, and it is more than enough. 


End file.
